


What Might Have Been

by delawana



Series: Lyna Mahariel, Warden Commander [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), Pining, Sad and Happy, dad!alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delawana/pseuds/delawana
Summary: A vision in a mystical fountain in the Black Emporium shows Lyna Mahariel how her life might have been different had she changed one decision many years before.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Lyna Mahariel, Warden Commander [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571797
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	What Might Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a challenge prompt!
> 
> Prompt: 
> 
> The Black Emporium has a new item: the Aspersorium of Zinovia, named after the famed mage who had visions of the future and was the consort of Archon Valerius. 
> 
> Codex Entry: _It is a large font, made out of white stone, and the water is about a foot deep. The water feels cool to the touch, and is enchanted to activate when three ounces of lyrium are carefully dripped into it, clockwise. The lyrium activates a spell that has been officially lost to history- we do not have a name for it now, we simply know this spell gives you insights and visions of alternate futures, pasts, and presents- where you see someone else in your place, making different decisions, choices- where you see different consequences. Be very careful when using this. Visitors who have used this for long periods of time, have been known to go insane or simply die from the fumes that the lyrium gives off when it is being dripped into the basin._
> 
> So here’s the challenge: Your Warden, Your Hawke, or your Inquisitor has come to the Black Emporium and sees this item. Curiosity takes over and they take a look. You are to write out what they see: Your Warden sees a different Warden instead of themselves, your Inquisitor sees a different Inquisitor, Hawke sees a different Hawke, etc. They see a different path play out. For Non Protagonists or for those who do not have alternate versions of Hawkes, Wardens and Inquisitors: Have them witness a crucial part of their past or future from the story you made for them and see what changes it brings in a different life, if they chose to make a different choice.

Lyna had heard of the Black Emporium before; whispers of it had stretched all the way even to Ferelden, but she had never been here herself - that is, until an invitation in spidery handwriting had mysteriously appeared under her door. Curiosity had overcome wariness and now here she stood before a basin filled with completely still water that didn’t move even when her steps toward it shook the white stone base. **  
**

There was something strange and otherworldly about it, exceptionally so given how many other oddities were strewn about this odd shop. She felt unusually drawn to the glassy water, her face reflecting up at her in its mirror-like surface. Tight platinum bun, a long scar that wove through her green vallaslin, more around her lips and forehead. She looked old. Weathered. Angry. Did she always look that angry? That would be ghastly.

A small vial of lyrium was next to the font and she picked it up with determination. If nothing else, dropping it in the way she had been told was the way to activate it would dismiss the unpleasant image of herself. The smell of ozone, metallic and sharp, filled her nose as she removed the stopper from the bottle and dripped it cautiously into the basin. 

The room around her seemed to disappear. A moving painting of herself glimmered back at her from the water and she felt herself pulled in, the vision of what she recognized as Arl Eamon’s estate in Denerim some twelve years before becoming her only reality.

“Why would you do that? What about us?” she heard Alistair say. Her heart dropped with the realization of what she was about to watch. She had run exactly this conversation through her mind over and over again.

He looked so boyish, his cheeks still rounded by youth and his posture not nearly as confident as it was the last time she had seen him at the palace. She hadn’t realized just how young he was. 

Across from him was someone she recognized as herself. Why had everyone thrust so much responsibility on her? She was just a baby at nineteen, even if she hadn’t felt that way at the time.

“I don’t want anyone else, even for pretend.” Alistair’s voice cracked with hurt and betrayal as he asked her why she would conspire to make him king alongside Anora. She longed to scoop the boy up into a hug and tell him that it was all going to be alright, even if it wasn’t, but all she was able to do was watch, an invisible third party to the moment she regretted most in her life.

“I’ll tell her no, then,” the figure that looked like her but wasn’t said.

This wasn’t how she had remembered it going.

As the vision faded away she saw Alistair put his hands on either side of her face and smack an enthusiastic kiss on her forehead in a way that made her smile.

The water in the basin rippled and transitioned into a small house, the bottom of a stack of three in the middle of a city - she recognized it as one she had seen in Amaranthine. She had always admired it, its whitewashed exterior clean and prim with rose bushes by the door. Inside it was cozy, a roaring fire burning warmly in the hearth. A shield she knew to be Duncan’s hung above the fireplace.

Alistair was on his hands and knees on the floor, two small children riding atop him as though he were a horse. They squealed in delight as he feigned bucking and rearing, then gently lowered himself to the floor to let them tumble down in a giggling heap. She herself was feeding a bottle to a positively cherubic blonde baby while sitting at a rough wooden table across the room. None of the children looked like either her or Alistair: the girl, who seemed to be the eldest, had skin like burnished bronze and tight black ringlets, her deep set dark eyes highlighted by her high cheekbones, while a younger boy, an elf, had freckles and tawny brown hair that constantly fell in his eyes.

She couldn’t remember ever having smiled as much as she was smiling in this vision. Even when she wasn’t actively grinning her mouth seemed to be turned upwards, ready to break out into something wider in an instant.

Alistair got up from the floor and walked toward her, brushing his hands on his breeches. Holding her shoulders, he leaned down behind her and kissed her cheek tenderly, then licked along the base of her ear. She reached out to swat at him but he jumped away just in time in a move that seemed well-practiced. 

“Why do you do this? You’re worse than the dog.” she heard herself say with mock annoyance. Putting the bottle down on the table, she wiped the wetness away and glared, her severe expression softened by the smile twisting at the corner of her mouth.

“Cleaner though.” 

“That’s debatable.” Her hand was outstretched toward the cheekily grinning man, who took it in his and drew closer. “You’re an idiot, Ali,” she said, affection plain in her voice, her eyes soft as she looked up at him. 

“But I’m your idiot, that’s the important bit.”

“Always.”

He leaned back down to her level and kissed her once more as a chorus of high-pitched ‘Ewws’ arose in the background. 

The surface of the font rippled again and the figured were wiped away, though the inside of the homey cottage remained in view. When it became clear again the children were still present but were much older.

The two elder siblings were near the fire, the boy setting up a row of small pewter soldiers in orderly rows on the floor and the girl sitting cross legged reading a book.

The person who looked like Lyna was still at the table in the kitchen. Beside her the formerly chubby-cheeked baby, who had grown into a similarly round faced blonde child, was repeatedly attempting to balance on one foot, wobbling around until she threatened to fall and slapped a sticky hand on Lyna’s knee for support.

There was a letter in Lyna’s hands.

“Is that from Father?” the older girl asked her when she heard the paper crinkle as Lyna removed it from its official-looking envelope.

“It’s from the Inquisitor, but it might have news of him. Odd that it didn’t come with something from him as well, though. Perhaps it’s still making its way here.”

As Lyna watched herself read the letter she saw her face go pale. Lyna-that-was-not-Lyna froze in place, staring unblinkingly at the page. Taking a deep breath that heaved her shoulders, she closed her eyes tightly and bit at her lip until a small bead of red appeared. She licked the blood away and dropped the letter as though it had begun to burn her, then held her head in her hands and leaned against the surface of the table.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” the small girl by her side asked as she tried to pull her mother’s hand away from her face.

She took a moment before lifting her head, then turned towards the other children. Her hollow eyes sent a chill down Lyna’s spine.

“Come here, you two, I need to tell you something.” The words were slow, her tone carefully measured in some attempt to keep from alarming the children, but her voice was shaking. Something in it convinced them not to argue the urgency of her command.

As the children gathered around her a film appeared over the figures in the scene and they began to disappear. The letter grew larger and more readable. 

_Warden-Commander Mahariel,_

_Please forgive my formality; I have no words that adequately explain my depth of feeling._

_After a long and brutal assault on Adamant fortress, myself, some of my companions, and Warden Alistair were sent bodily into the Fade. He did not return with us, sacrificing himself that we might live. I failed you and failed him. Falon’Din guide him and bring him peace._

_I hope that you can come to forgive me._

_Inquisitor Raynda Lavellan_

The images faded, turning back to still water. Lyna realized that she had been gripping the smooth rounded edges of the basin until her knuckles had turned white and was finding it difficult to catch her breath. She forced herself to let go and reached inside her collar pulling out an old silver locket. Holding it tight like a talisman against evil seemed to calm her, the knowledge of the dried rose petals within it comforting her.

Would it have been worth it? Would a few years of happiness have been enough? Was it truly better that they live, but only half-alive? She wasn’t sure if she wanted the answers to any of those questions.

For now, it was enough that he had not died.


End file.
